


To Strike Astonishment Into Angels (rewrite)

by thelastofmeforever



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex has issues, Alex needs a hug, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bullying, Child Abuse, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Foster Care, Gay John Laurens, Gen, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Immigrants, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LGBTQ Character of Color, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Multi, No Smut, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, they get the job done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastofmeforever/pseuds/thelastofmeforever
Summary: "Alexander Hamilton had shitty luck.This was an indisputable fact. Like gravity, or one plus one equals two. The Earth revolves around the sun, water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, and the universe hates Alexander Hamilton."Alex has been in the United States for less than a year and it's nothing like he thought it would be. After doing an interview about the hurricane that destroyed his town and killed his guardians, he was dumped into the US foster care system and has already gone through four placements. His social worker says the Washingtons are good people. That's what they say about all of them. Maybe this time will be different, but Alex isn't getting his hopes up.Yes I'm Hamiltrash, posting my own foster care au.A rewrite of my original fic, now with an actual plot!
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington
Comments: 21
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter I: Bastard, Orphan, Immigrant

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! As I said in the summary, this is a rewrite of my previous fic under the same name. I've done some major overhaul of the first few chapters and now have an actual plot to follow so if you read the original fic, please make sure to read the first chapters of this one as well as there will be some major differences. I combined chapters one and two of the first fic so you get one extra long first chapter. *I will be deleting the original fic as soon as I have posted all of the rewritten chapters.*

Alexander Hamilton had shitty luck. This was an indisputable fact. Like gravity, or one plus one equals two. The Earth revolves around the sun, water is composed of hydrogen and oxygen, and the universe hates Alexander Hamilton. 

In fact, one could hypothetically compose an entire smash hit rap musical summarizing every horrible occurence and unfortunate happenstance in his life and would probably end up winning eleven Tony awards and grossing half a billion dollars. You know, if there were a person crazy enough to even attempt such a thing. 

It all started with his birth. Well, actually, it all started with the circumstances of his conception. You see, his parents weren’t married, and in an old-school country like Nevis, that was a big no-no. What was worse was that Alex’s mother was actually married to another man. Admittedly, that man was a colossal asshole, but the point remained that Rachel Faucette had committed a fatal faux pas when she chose to disregard her marital status and hook up with alluring Scotsman James Hamilton.

One could hardly blame her, though, if one considered all the facts. After five years in a hated marriage and with her only son shaping up to be a carbon copy of his father, it’s no surprise that when a mysterious foreign nobleman showed an interest in her, Rachel was helpless to resist. It was a whirlwind romance and within two weeks a pregnant Rachel had packed her bags and left her old life in the dust. She and James settled in a little seaside cottage she had inherited from her father. It was heaven. Rachel and James couldn’t get enough of each other. James’s family wealth kept them reasonably comfortable and on January 11, 2002, they were blessed with the birth of their son. And that, in Alex’s opinion, was when everything started to go horribly wrong.

Rachel’s first husband, Johann Michael Lavien (god, what a pretentious name) divorced her. Now, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except that they lived in Nevis. According to Nevis law, a woman who is divorced on the basis of adultery and familial desertion cannot get remarried. This didn’t particularly bother Rachel, as she was perfectly happy living in unwed bliss with James.

However, it turns out that James Hamilton was not suited for fatherhood. Sure, he gave it a good shot. He even made it an admirable eight years before throwing in the towel. James claimed that he was leaving for their sake, so that Rachel wouldn’t have to live in shame of bigamy and that Alex wouldn’t have to face life as a bastard. 

Alex personally thought that was bullshit.

Without James Hamilton’s financial support, Rachel and Alex quickly fell into squalor. Rachel tried. She worked tirelessly as a cashier in the little convenience store across town and cleaned the houses of their rich neighbors, (and, though Alex didn’t know it at the time, occasionally sold her own body when things were really rough) all while trying to ensure that Alex had the best education she could provide. She spoke a mixture of French and English around their home, and read to Alex every night from her small collection of books. She danced in the kitchen with him as she cooked meger dinners of rice and beans. She sang to him as she resewed his threadbear clothes for the nth time. She combed her fingers through his hair as he fell asleep in her lap. They continued like this, struggling but reasonably happy, for two years. 

Two years of peaceful and impoverished living in a forgotten spot in the Caribbean suddenly came to a screeching halt when Alex fell gravely ill and Rachel followed not long after. Bedridden, half dead, and sitting in their own sick with no money for medicine or anyone to help them, it was really only a matter of time. Miraculously though, Alex got better, but his mother went quick.

Now an orphan, Alex was sent to live with a distant cousin, Peter Lytton. It should have been a good thing, but Alex’s bad luck persisted. Peter was not a bad man, per say, but he was very wrapped up in his own head. He spent days at a time locked away in his study, sometimes screaming and raging at nothing. Whenever he did leave his study, he seemed to have a hard time even registering Alex’s presence. Occasionally, he would pat the boy on the head, muttering vaguely, and tuck a sticky, aged piece of hard candy into his hand. All-in-all, Peter was a very poor guardian and Alex was left to fend for himself.

Because he had no access to Peter’s bank account and the man himself was rarely put together enough to notice a need for things like groceries, Alex got a job. He wasn’t actually legally old enough to work, he was only eleven, but Nicholas Cruger needed someone to help balance his books and Alex had an affinity with numbers. 

Mr. Cruger is not what one would call ‘a good boss’. He had a quick temper and would sooner smack Alex round the head for a mistake than praise him for some spared expense. Alex was also grossly underpaid and he knew it, but he found that he enjoyed the work, even if he didn’t like Mr. Cruger. 

It wasn’t ideal, but Alex was determined to make his new situation work. And six months in, Alex finally thought that he might be able to be happy here. Until he came home to Peter’s body hanging from the doorframe.

The funeral that followed was short and insincere. Peter had left all of his property to his mistress and their son, who didn’t hesitate to throw Alex out on his ass. 

It was one of Peter Lytton’s business associates, Thomas Stevens, who took pity on young Alex and took him in. 

Thomas Stevens was married to Marie Stevens and they had three children, Edward, Arabella, and Henri. Edward was Alex’s age and the two became quick friends. Little eight year old Arabella Stevens was infatuated with Alex from the moment he entered their house. She was always asking Alex to read with her, or play with her, or sit next to her at dinner. Edward said that she had a crush, which made both Alex and Bella blush bright red. 

Maryse Stevens was Dutch by birth and had taught all of her children the language. She reminded Alex painfully of his mother as she patiently helped him perfect his Dutch. 

Henri was the youngest Stevens. He turned four just two months before the hurricane struck Nevis.

Oh god, the hurricane. It struck with little warning, raining devastation on all it encountered. The wind roared and the sea raged. The air was filled with crashes of collapsing houses, the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed. The Stevenses and Alex huddled beneath the kitchen table, but it did no good. When the rain finally slowed and the wind faded, Alex emerged to find the house gone.

He dug the Stevenses out of the rubble with his bare hands. In the end, Alex was left with four bodies.

He never found Edward.

Now homeless and utterly alone, Alex did the only thing he could think of. He wrote. He poured his soul, his anger, his grief onto pages of water stained loose-leaf paper. He wrote until his hand ached and his eyes blurred with tears. He wrote until his pen ran out of ink, until his pencil broke in his fingers. He wrote a testament to his pain, his first refrain, in shaky, bloody letters. And still, he had more to say. He was practically bursting with words. With the need to be heard. At fifteen years old, words were all Alexander had left.

* * *

  
  


The Red Cross arrived in Nevis a few days after the hurricane. They brought medicine and food and clean clothes. They also brought reporters. Everyone wanted to talk to the survivors. Everyone wanted to hear first-hand what had happened. And Alex obliged. Everything he had written down came pouring out of his mouth. His poetic descriptions of the absolute devastation immediately captivated his audience and his writing was soon published all over America. Then the money came pouring in. Enough money to help rebuild Nevis. Total strangers were moved to kindness by Alex’s story and before long, Alex had his first stroke of good luck: he was offered an American citizenship.

It should have been a good thing. Looking back now, Alex wasn’t so sure. America was nothing like he’d thought it would be. It quickly became apparent that his status as a percieved immigrant made him a second class citizen. Add that to the fact that he was a bastard and an orphan at the mercy of the American Foster Care System, Alex really never stood a chance.

* * *

“The Washingtons are great people, just the best! They’ve been working with Social Services for over a decade now. They’ve helped us with a lot of difficult placements before, so I’m sure they’ll be able to handle you no problem!”

 _Difficult._ It was a word that Alex had been called a lot since coming to America. He was a _difficult_ child. Apparently, going through three foster families and a group home in less than a year made one _difficult_. 

Nevermind the fact that all of the families that CPS had placed him with had been batshit crazy. It was hardly Alex’s fault that he had to resort to some rather unorthodox methods to survive the Swansons. Or that the Macalesters had thought he was a literal demon. Or that the Heigels- Alex cut the thought off with a shudder. Better to never think of the Heigels. 

And it was certainly not his fault that the rat-faced boy at the group home had ended up with a broken nose and dislocated jaw when he’d refused to keep his hands to himself. Well, maybe that last one was his fault a little, but the asshole deserved it. Except CPS hadn’t seemed to agree because they’d yanked Alex out of that placement so fast he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to the few people he’d actually _liked_ there.

All-in-all, Alex would sum up his stay with Child Protective Services so far with one word: shitstorm. And he didn’t foresee it getting any better. His social worker, Kitty Livingston, could sing their praises all day long, but Alex wasn’t holding out much hope for this next family.

“They have one adopted son already, Gerald, or something like that. He’s your age. He’s been with them since he was, like, ten. And guess what? He’s an immigrant too! Isn’t that exciting, Alexander?”

 _Absolutely thrilling_ , Alex thought to himself. He pressed a thumb to his split lip as though to remind himself to keep his mouth shut. Not that it mattered. Kitty prattled on without waiting for a response. 

“Martha is a nurse and George has a law degree, I think. They have two dogs, but your file said you weren’t allergic so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Truthfully, Alex had never really been around dogs before. At least, not domestic dogs. A few scrappy looking strays had wandered around on Nevis, but they tended to avoid people unless they were offered food. Alex wondered absently if those dogs had survived the hurricane.

“Here we are!” Kitty exclaimed cheerfully as she turned into the driveway. Alex looked out the window. It was without a doubt one of the biggest houses Alex had ever seen. It was at least three stories tall and shining white with a sun porch that wrapped all the way around. A black fence encircled the pristine yard. It looked like something straight out of a magazine.

“Holy shit,” Alex murmured as he craned his neck to see the entirety of the house. 

“Alexander, language! Imagine what the Washingtons would think if they heard you talk like that!” Kitty scolded as they pulled up to the gate. 

Truthfully, Alex didn’t give two shits what the Washingtons thought of his language, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, he watched silently as Kitty rolled down her window and reached out to enter a security code on the keypad that stood before the gate. The keypad beeped shrilly and the gate swung open. Kitty moved the car forward as she continued her lecture.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior, Alexander. I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is for you to fit in here. I had to call in a lot of favors to get you this spot and if you mess this up, I honestly don’t know what I’ll do with you. You’re running out of options, sweetie.”

Alex didn’t respond, istead staring at the looming house as they came to a stop at the head of the driveway. Kitty put the car in park and unbuckled her seatbelt. She smoothed her clothes primly and checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Alex rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He retrieved his backpack which contained all of his clothes and school supplies from the backseat and swung it over his shoulder. He then picked up the cardboard box sitting in the floorboard. He handled the box with great care. It contained his most precious possessions and he had gotten into more than one fight in his efforts to protect it.

Alex clutched the box close to his chest as Kitty led the way to the front door. He tried to focus on the weight of the load he was carrying rather than the growing feeling of dread, heavy and cold in his stomach, like he had swallowed a ball of lead. 

As soon as Kitty rang the doorbell, the dogs that she had mentioned earlier made themselves known. Through the narrow glass window on the front door, Alex could see the forms of two large dogs bounding around excitedly as they barked at the top of their lungs. After several minutes of waiting, Kitty rang the doorbell again.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming, just a minute.”

Alex saw a humanoid form move on the other side of the glass. 

“Venus! Tippler! Get back! Sit down now!” A voice commanded and to Alex’s great surprise, the dogs obeyed. Once the animals were settled, the door opened.

A woman stood in the entry-way. She was average height, with soft brown skin and her caramel-colored hair was pulled back in a French braid. She wore a flannel button-up and a pair of comfortable jeans. Despite her casual appearance, she seemed to possess the casual elegance that Kitty strived for but always fell short of. She smiled when she saw them.

“Hello!” She said cheerfully. “You must be from CPS. I’m Martha Washington. It’s so nice to meet you!” She stuck out her hand for a shake.

Kitty pasted on a friendly smile and took Mrs. Washington’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Martha. I’m Kitty Livingston and this is Alexander Hamilton.”

Mrs. Washington turned to Alex and reached out her hand. Alex hesitated momentarily before taking her hand,hoping she didn't notice the livid bruising on his knuckles. If she did, she didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled. "It's good to meet you, Alexander."

Alex doubted that, but politely mumbled "You too" back.

Mrs. Washington made a sweeping gesture. "Please come in."

Kitty didn't hesitate to accept the invitation and strode confidently through the door. Alex followed more hesitantly.

To the left of the doorway sat two dogs, both wagging their tails furiously. The larger of the two was almost comically shaggy, the hair on its head parted down the middle to keep it out of its eyes. The smaller had short, white fur with large brown and black spots. It seemed to grin at Alex, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

As they passed, Alex subtly held out a hand for both dogs to sniff, which they did with great excitement and many loud snuffles.

The interior of the house was just as stunning as the outside. The entry hall was long and gave way to a grand staircase leading up to the upper floors. Mrs. Washington paused at the bottom of the stairs and called, “George! The social worker is here with Alexander! Come meet us in the foyer!”

A muffled reply could be heard, but Alex was at a loss to decipher it. Mrs. Washington, however, took it as an affirmation and continued into the next room. Alex could hear the ‘click’ of the dogs’ nails on the hard floor as they followed. 

The foyer was open and spacious with massive windows that overlooked the front lawn. The floor seemed to be genuine hard-wood with a large, ornate rug covering the majority of the floor-space. Several fine leather sofas were set around the room, angled to face each other. Mrs. Washington motioned to one of them, telling Alex and Kitty to “make themselves at home.” Alex strategically placed himself so that he was sitting both as far away from Mrs. Washington as possible and with a direct route to the exit. He placed his backpack on the ground next to his feet, but kept the box in his lap. Call him illogical, but he felt better with the barrier between him and the rest of the room.

“My husband should be down in just a moment,” Mrs. Washington said. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Alex shook his head. Kitty asked for a cup of coffee, if they had it.

While Mrs. Washington went to the kitchen, the dogs approached and began sniffing both guests with interest. Alex reached out and carefully patted the shaggy dog on the head. It licked his fingers in response. Alex felt a smile tug at his lips, but he forced it away.

Mrs. Washington returned with an honest-to-god serving tray ladened with three mugs and a bottle of water. She handed one mug to Kitty, who thanked her profusely.

She handed the bottle to Alex.

“In case you change your mind,” she said with a wink. She put the tray on the table and picked up her own mug and sipped it before taking a seat on the adjacent sofa. 

Alex, oddly touched by Mrs. Washington’s thoughtful gesture, bent to tuck his bottle into his backpack. At the same time, footsteps sounded from the entry hall. The dogs yipped happily and ran towards the sound. Mrs. Washington smiled.

“That’ll be George.”

A figure entered the room and Alex felt his heart stutter. George Washington was _huge_. At least six feet tall and fit, with arms that bulged with muscle, Mr. Washington struck an intimidating figure. He didn’t even stumble as both dogs jumped at his legs, trying to catch his attention.

Alex pulled his box closer to his chest and pressed down hard on one of the fresh bruises on his arm. It ached and the pain forced Alex to take a deep breath, which in turn hurt his bruised ribs. But the pain made him focus. Everything was fine. Kitty was still here. No one was going to hurt him.

Yet.

Kitty left, of course. 

Alex knew she would, but even still, he couldn't help but feel abandoned. Not that he really trusted Kitty, or even really liked her. She was a bit dim frankly, and she had spent most of the meeting with the Washingtons talking about all of Alex’s _issues_. How he talked back and got in fights and had attacked his previous guardian. Which wasn't even true! Well, the “talking back” part was, and technically so was the violence, but it wasn't the full story. 

Still, the point was, Kitty had left him and despite his less than fond feelings for her, Alex knew that she, at least, would never purposefully hurt him. The same could not be said about the Washingtons. 

Mr. Washington was a giant, even bigger than Mr. Heigle had been, and dammit if that wasn't terrifying. Mr. Washington could easily break bones if he got mad enough, Alex had no doubt about that. But Washington seemed pretty calm at the moment. Maybe it was because his wife was in the room.

Mrs. Washington was looking at Alex with a smile so bright that it made Alex uncomfortable. She didn't know him. Why did she look so happy to see him?

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexander. Do you go by Alexander, or do you prefer Alex?”

“Alex is fine,” the boy mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes. He stared at the floor instead, taking note of how much more ragged his worn out sneakers looked when compared to the fine carpet. He scrunched his toes self-consciously. 

“Alex then. I'm Martha and my husband's name is George. You are welcome to call us that.”

Alex nodded. No way in hell was he calling his new foster parents by their first names.

“Your file said you’re fifteen?” Mrs. Washington phrased it like a question. Alex didn’t understand why. If it was in his file, it was obviously right. But, then again, if he was being fair, there was a substantial amount of misinformation (and a few outright lies) in his file, Alex thought derisively. Still, he nodded in confirmation.

“Our son, Gilbert, is about your age. He should be home any minute…”

Alex heard the front door open and an accented voice rang out. “ _Mere, Pere_! Is he here yet?”

“Speak of the devil.” Mr. Washington said, sounding amused.

A boy blew into the room like a whirlwind. He was tall and thin, but not scrawny like Alex. He had brown skin and tight black curls that were pulled back into a bun. He wore a sleek floral top and a pair of flattering skinny jeans and boots with a heel tall enough to make Alex nervous for his ankles. The boy was practically bouncing with excitement. 

“Is he here yet? Is he here yet?” The boy asked again, before catching sight of Alex. He squealed in delight. “He _is_ here! Why did you not tell me?” He shot an accusing glare at his parents. 

Mr. Washington snorted. “Must have slipped our minds.”

Gilbert ignored his father and bounded right up to Alex and stuck his hand out.

“ _Bonjour, mon ami! Je suis tellement excitée de vous rencontrer_ _!_ ” 

Alex stood and shifted his box to hold it under one arm. He cautiously shook the offered hand. “ _Bonjour. Je m’appelle Alexander Hamilton. Echanté, aussi._ ” 

Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise before a grin split his face. “ _Tu parles français_?”

Alex nodded. “ _Oui. Et anglaise et néerlandais_.” 

“Ha ha!” Gilbert cheered and actually did a full on pirouette in delight.

“You speak French, Alex?” 

Alex hunched over slightly as Mr. Washington addressed him. He nodded shyly.

“And Dutch!” Gilbert told his father.

“How wonderful!” Martha said. “George and I aren't fluent so it will be nice for Gilbert to have someone to talk to in his native language.”

Gilbert looked at Alex slyly. 

“They only understand French if you use small words and speak… very… slowly.” Lafayette jabbed playfully, drawing the words out several syllables. “Also,” he said with a groan, “please do not call me “Gilbert”. Only George and Martha call me that. My friends call me Lafayette.”

They were friends? They had literally only met seconds ago. But Lafayette was looking at him with such earnesty that Alex had no choice but to nod despite his confusion. 

“Have you seen your room yet?” Lafayette asked him.

“We haven't had a chance to show it to him yet.” Mrs. Washington cut in quickly, watching her exuberant son with obvious affection. “I assume you would like to do the honors?”

Lafayette nodded eagerly and grabbed Alex’s wrist. Alex recoiled sharply. Lafayette’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and… concern? But Alex barely had time to panic before the other boy had moved on.

“Come, _mon ami_! I will show you to your room! It is right next door to mine!”

Alex glanced at the Washingtons. Mrs. Washington gave him an encouraging smile and Alex took it as permission to follow his new foster brother. He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder before following Lafayette up the stairs. Lafayette pointed out different rooms as they passed.

“This is the study… and this is Martha’s sewing room… and here is George’s office…”

Finally they came to a stop in front of two doors.

“This is my room,” Lafayette said and he opened the door to give Alex a brief peek inside. His only impression was “colorful”. Lafayette closed the door again.

“And this,” He grabbed the handle of the other door, “is your room.” He threw the door open.

The room was spacious, painted a light blue with off-white baseboards. There was a tall window opposite the door that let the natural light in. A wooden desk sat against one wall and an empty bookshelf lined the other. The bed was big enough to fit three Alexs and it looked sinfully comfortable. Through another doorway, Alex could see an en suite bathroom. 

“The closet is a bit small, at least, for me. But, then again, I have a lot of clothes,” Lafayette continued, hardly pausing in his chatter as he pressed onward into the bedroom. Alex followed hesitantly. He looked down at his sullied appearance, wondering fleetingly if he would dirty the entire room just by stepping through the door.

“There is a full bathroom through there,” Lafayette pointed, “so you won't have to share with anyone. I'll have to give you the WiFi password. Do you have a phone, Alexander?”

“No,” Alex replied absently as he moved slowly through his room.

“Hm. We'll have to fix that.”

Alex barely heard Lafayette, looking out the window instead. It was a beautiful view, showing a spacious backyard and a colorful flower bed.

Lafayette continued to talk, unperturbed by Alex’s monosyllabic response. “The dogs know not to come into any of the bedrooms without permission, so you won't have to worry about them. And there's a lock on the door if you ever want some privacy. Be warned though, I can pick locks. Well, kind of.”

Alex moved away from the window to the bed and pressed down on the mattress. Memory foam.

“And this is all mine?” He asked quietly. Part of him expected Lafayette to say that he was only joking and take everything away. To tell him that he didn’t deserve all of these nice things. That he was stupid. Dirty. Worthless.

But Lafayette did and said none of those things. He only blinked in surprise. “Of course, my friend.”

Alex closed his eyes firmly for a moment and forced himself to get a grip. When he opened his eyes, he looked directly in Lafayette’s dark eyes. 

“Thank you.”

Lafayette smiled brightly. “It is nothing, _mon cher_.”

“No,” Alex said earnestly. “ _Thank you.”_

Lafayette’s expression softened and his smile turned gentle. “You are welcome, _mon ami_. You deserve it.”

Alex’s face scrunched. “You don't even know me.”

“Not yet,” Lafayette conceded, “but I can tell.” He winked and then disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

Alex set his bag on the floor and flopped back on the bed. It was even more comfortable than he had imagined. His thoughts were always whirling at a hundred miles an hour but as he lay on the bed, drowning in the comforts of this new home but still aching with the reminders of previous hells, the day's events began to catch up with him quickly. A fog began to fall over his mind. His thoughts began to slow. His eyes slipped shut against his will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bonjour, mon ami! Je suis tellement excitée de vous rencontrer!" Hello, my friend! I am so excited to meet you!  
> “Bonjour. Je m’appelle Alexander Hamilton. Echanté, aussi.” Hello. My name is Alexander Hamilton. It’s nice to meet you, too.  
> "Tu parles français?" You speak French?  
> “Oui. Et anglaise et néerlandais.” Yes. And English and Dutch  
> "...mon ami!..." My friend  
> "...mon cher.” My dear


	2. Chapter II: Dinner with the Washingtons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* What's this? Another chapter already? Yes, my friends! I'm on a role!  
> Trigger warnings are in the tags, please read at your own risk.

Alex woke to a loud pounding on the door. He shot upright, shoulders hunched, with both hands held out to ward off an impending blow.

A blow that never came. 

Alex blinked several times. He was in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed, with an unknown person banging on the door for an unknown reason. Alex immediately took stock of himself.

His ribs were sore and his split lip stung, as did his roughed up knuckles. But all four limbs were still attached and he didn’t feel any evidence of a concussion. Only a slight drowsiness. He accordingly shook his head to clear out the cobwebs of sleep. At once, everything came rushing back to him.

The drive with Kitty. 

The Washingtons. 

Lafayette. 

Alex looked around.

The room was darker than it had been before he’d fallen asleep and the sky outside the window was now streaked with pink and purple. The person on the other side of the door knocked again. 

“ _ Alexandre _ ! Alex, are you in there? It is time for food! Alexander?”

Alex fell back on the bed, wishing he could just stay there and not move for a few days. He was so tired.

But the promise of food spurred him into motion and he dragged himself to his feet and trudged to the door. He had half a second to panic as he realized that he’d left the door unlocked while he was asleep (who knows what could have happened) before he opened the door. Lafayette was mid-knock and he stumbled but quickly regained his balance.

“Ah, there you are,  _ mon ami _ ! Come, it's time for  _ le diner _ .  _ Mère _ made pot roast!” He sounded unreasonably pleased. Alex’s stomach growled and he hated that he was grateful that they had decided to feed him. He meekly followed Lafayette down the stairs. They passed through the living room where they had met earlier and into a spacious kitchen. 

It was by far the nicest kitchen Alex had ever been in. All of the appliances were new and shiny. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling the way Alex had only seen on the front of magazines. There was a breakfast bar with tall leather chairs and a rather cliche bowl of fruit. 

The dogs were in the corner devouring their own dinner. There was a round table to the left that Mr Washington was setting. He turned when the boys entered. 

“Ah, Gilbert, Alex, just in time. Martha’s just about to take the rolls out of the oven. Could you wash your hands and bring the salad and lemonade in?”

“ _ Bien sûr _ ,  _ Papa _ !” Lafayette agreed happily and he skipped over to the kitchen, nearly bumping into Mrs. Washington as she carried a basket of steaming yeast rolls to the table. 

“Marie Joseph, don't you run in my kitchen,” Mrs. Washington warned firmly but not unkindly. Even still, Alex gave her a wide berth on his way to the sink. 

“Sorry,  _ Maman _ !” Lafayette called back.

“Sure you are,” Mrs. Washington responded, but she sounded playful.

Lafayette turned the sink on with only a tap of the faucet and quickly lathered his hands with soap. Alex followed suit. Once they were done, Lafayette grabbed the pitcher of lemonade and handed Alex the salad bowl.

Alex followed Lafayette to the table and set down the salad bowl.

“Okay, everyone sit while I go get the pot roast.” Mrs. Washington ordered. Lafayette obeyed immediately, pulling Alex down into the chair next to him. Alex didn’t resist but his arm burned with the imprint of the touch even after Lafayette released him. Mr. Washington didn’t take a seat, instead moving to intercept his wife. 

“I can get it, darling.”

Mrs. Washington looked back over her shoulder, smiling gently as she strode across the kitchen to the oven.

“No need, my love, I've got it,” She assured him.

Only then did Mr. Washington acquiesce and take a seat at the table. He sat on Lafayette’s other side and Alex couldn’t help but be grateful to have a physical barrier between him and his new foster father.

It was odd. Alex had never been placed with a couple that was so obviously in love as the Washingtons. The Steven’s had been an “old married couple” but the Washington’s acted as though they were still newlyweds. Mr. Washington’s eyes followed his wife with fondness everywhere she went and Mrs. Washington smiled adoringly every time she caught him looking. The Swanson’s had rarely been in the house at the same time and when they were they were either fighting, sleeping, or loudly getting it on. The McAllisters had had an old fashioned marriage where Mrs. McAllister acted subservient to her husband and bended to his will. She had catered to his every whim and hadn’t even questioned him when he hit Alex or even her. The Heigil’s marriage had been a clusterfuck.

But Mrs. Washington had contradicted her husband to his face, had given him an order, and had received nothing but an affectionate sigh in return. 

“Here we are!” 

Mrs. Washington swept over, looking oddly graceful with her hands full of pot roast. She sat the meat in the center of the table and quickly took her seat next between her husband and Alex. Mr. and Mrs. Washington held hands and Mr. Washington took one of Lafayette’s hands. Mrs. Washington looked at Alex.

“I hope you don’t mind if we pray before we eat, Alex, dear.”

Alexander shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t prayed since he had been with the McAllisters. Mr. McAllister would cuff Alex across the head and take away his food if Alex dared to eat before the prayer was said. Alex’s mother hadn’t been very religious, but she had insisted on praying before every meal. She said that by thanking God for their food, they would be nourished and strengthened. That had turned out well. Needless to say, the whole “prayer” thing had been pretty much ruined for him.

“You do not have to if you do not wish to, _ mon ami _ .” Lafayette said softly. “We really only pray before meals. And we only attend church on holidays.”

Alex looked nervously at Mr. Washington to check that it was really alright for him to sit this out. Mr. Washington noticed Alex’s look and smiled.

“We would never ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Well, that was definity bullshit. But Alex decided to at least accept it as permission to not participate. He clasped his hands in his lap. Mrs. Washington reached across him and took Lafayette’s other hand. Alex had to force himself not to lean away from her close proximity.

“Dear God, we thank you for this day and for this meal that has been prepared. We thank you for all that we have been able to do and accomplish today, God, and we thank you for our good health. God, we thank you for each other and for bringing Alexander into our lives-”

The rest of the prayer was lost to Alex. Surely Mr. Washington didn’t mean that. Why would they be thankful for him? As far as they knew, he was just a bastard, orphan, immigrant with violent tendencies and an attitude problem. He meant nothing to them. And yet, Mr. Washington had thanked God for forcing this burden on their perfect little family. Wasn’t lying to God a sin?

But no lightning came to strike Mr. Washington down and as soon as the final “amen” had been said, Lafayette was diving for the pot roast, quickly loading his plate. Alex hesitantly took a roll and a spoonful of steamed vegetables. Lafayette, even in the midst of his feeding frenzy, paused to look disapprovingly at Alex’s plate. Maybe he had gotten too much?  _ You’re so stupid.  _ Alex told himself.  _ You know better than to be greedy. _ But Lafayette said nothing, only added a large portion of roast to Alex’s meager meal. 

Bewildered by the gesture, Alex tentatively speared a bit of meat with his fork and put it in his mouth. He almost moaned with delight. The meat was tender, seeming to melt like butter on his tongue and juicy with flavor. Alex quickly shoveled another bite into his mouth. Ignoring the conversation around him, Alex quickly devoured his meal. It was the most he’d eaten in ages. His previous placement had been a group home and mealtimes had been first-come-first-served. He’d gotten in more than one fight over food there. He decided that he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity to fill up.

Lafayette was talking animatedly to his parents, rambling about his day at school and how it was a “good thing it was Friday because one more day of seeing Lee’s face and I was going to seriously lose it.”

At one point, the spotted dog approached him and plopped its head in Alex’s lap, looking pleadingly up at him with wide, dark eyes. It was obvious the animal wanted food, but Alex was hesitant to give it any. He probably wasn’t supposed to feed the dogs table scraps and God only knew what would happen if he were caught. But the dog looked so sad and Alex knew better than most what it was like to go hungry. Surely he could manage to sneak just a little bit of roast…

“Tippler, leave Alex alone, you beggar dog. You’ve already had your dinner.” The dog slinked off at Mrs. Washington’s exasperated reprimand and Alex’s attention was brought back to the others at the table. He noticed that while his plate was now empty, everyone else had only cleared half their plates. He looked down at his lap.  _ God, they must think you’re so rude, stuffing your face like that. Disgusting. _

“Would you like seconds, Alex?” Mr. Washington interrupted his self deprecating thoughts. Alex froze. He had no idea how to answer the question. Yes, he was still hungry, but the last thing he wanted to be in front of this new family was greedy. Thankfully, Lafayette took the decision into his own hands and ladened Alex’s plate again. Alex smiled gratefully at the other boy and began to eat again. This time he paid attention to the conversation around him.

“I was thinking that we would go to the mall tomorrow. John needs some new shoes and Hercules wants some new fabric for his current project.” Lafayette was saying.

Alex had no idea what he was talking about.

“Maybe Alexander can go with us and we can pick up some things for him?”

Things? What things? And why did Lafayette want Alex to go to shop with him and his friends? Alex didn’t get along with a lot of people and he was sure to ruin their day. He was  _ difficult _ after all. But Mrs. Washington seemed to disagree.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Gilbert. I’ll leave you my card and a list of things you need to get before I leave in the morning. Will you be driving?”

“ _ Oui _ . John will be coming here and then we’ll go to pick up Herc. We’ll probably eat out for lunch if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect.” Mrs. Washington reassured him.

“ _ Merveilleux _ ! We shall leave after breakfast then.”

“Are you okay with that, Alex?”

It was Mr. Washington who asked the question. Lafayette turned quickly to Alex, looking slightly panicked.

“You do not have to come if you do not want to,  _ mon ami _ . My friends would like to meet you but they can wait if you are not comfortable.” Lafayette said in concern. 

Alex though for a second. Mrs. Washington had already said that she was leaving in the morning and with Lafayette gone with his friends, Alex would be left alone with Mr. Washington. That was not acceptable. He wasn’t stupid. And despite evidence to the contrary, he wasn’t a masochist. 

Besides, all there was to do at the house was write in his notebook or reread his mother’s books for the hundredth time. He didn’t dare assume that he could touch anything in the house without explicit permission and there was no way in hell he was going to ask.

“I’ll go with Lafayette, if that’s okay.” Alex replied, glancing nervously at the adults. Both of them smiled at him. 

“That’s perfectly fine, son.” Mr. Washington assured him. Alex grimaced at being called “son” but didn’t say anything. Backtalk was a sure fire way to get hit. Thankfully, Mr. Washington didn’t notice his distaste, or, if he did, he didn’t mention it.

The Washington’s spent a few more minutes talking about this and that before they began to wander away from the table. Mr. Washington was the first to leave, wiping his mouth on a napkin before announcing that he had work to do and would be in his office. His wife followed him out, intending to take the dogs outside. Lafayette stayed a few minutes longer, asking Alex arbitrary questions about his likes and dislikes before he said that he needed to text his friends and went upstairs.

Now alone, Alex looked at the table covered with dirty dishes and left over food. Biting back a sigh, he began collecting the discarded plates. He cleared the empty dishes first, stacking them neatly beside the sink before rinsing them one by one and loading them into the dishwasher. At the group home, it had always been Alex’s job to do the dishes. The dishwasher there barely worked on a good day and not at all on a bad day, so more often than not Alex had to hand wash dishes for seven other boys plus the adults. That was fine. He’d been responsible for a whole multitude of chores at most of his other foster homes. 

Once the empty dishes were loaded, he moved on to the leftovers. As quietly as he could, Alex began looking through the cabinets, trying to find tupperware. He located it in the cabinet to the left of the dishwasher. Pulling out what he needed, he began to scoop the leftover steamed vegetables into a plastic container. Then he found a tub for the last dregs of salad. He found a ziploc bag for the last of the rolls, which he stored in the breadbox. He was carrying the pot roast over to the counter when he was interrupted. 

“Oh, Alex, you didn’t have to do that!”

Alex startled so badly that he dropped what he was holding. The pot roast tumbled to the floor and the porcelain dish shattered against the tile. All Alex could do was stare in horror. Mrs. Washington said something, but it sounded muffled over the pounding of Alex’s heart in his ears.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, even though his lungs seized like they were trying to draw breath underwater. He dropped to his knees and began to hastily gather the shards of porcelain. Thankfully, it had only broken into a couple of large pieces, so they were easy to gather. They were still sharp, however, and Alex winced as he sliced one of his fingers on an edge. The dogs, who had followed Mrs. Washington in, eagerly converged on the feast.

“Venus, Tippler, no!” Mrs. Washington commanded, but the pups ignored her, happily lapping up every shred of roast that they could get. Alex flinched as a wet nose bumped against his bleeding hand. The same dog that had begged Alex for food earlier, Tippler, whimpered at the smell of his blood.

“What is it, boy?” Mrs. Washington asked, carefully stepping towards the dog. Alex couldn’t help but shrink back as she neared. He tried to hide his bleeding hand behind his uninjured one, but he couldn’t hide the steady drip of blood to the floor.

“Oh my god!” Mrs. Washington exclaimed. She quickly grabbed a clean hand towel from one of the drawers and crouched down next to Alex. She must have mistaken his flinch for one of pain, because she muttered “sorry” as she wrapped his hand tightly in the rag. She then took the shards of broken porcelain from Alex’s other hand and tossed them in the garbage can.

“Come on, now, love, let’s get you up.”

Alex muttered “sorry” once again and allowed Mrs. Washington to help him get to his feet. He remained tense and silent. He was surely about to be beaten for making a mess. She led him through the kitchen and into a room he had never seen before. It seemed to be a less formal living room than the one Alex had been in earlier. The first thing Alex noticed first was the large flatscreen on the wall, under which there was a shelf packed full of DVDs. A large sectional took up most of the room and the shag rug covered the floor. There was a rectangular coffee table in front of the sectional. Mrs. Washington gently maneuvered Alex onto the sectional and then perched herself on the edge of the coffee table.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered again but Mrs. Washington shushed him gently.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she said.

Just then, Lafayette came into the room, typing on his cell phone. He had a question poised on his lips, but when he looked up, his eyes widened in alarm and he shoved the phone into his pocket.

“ _ Sacré bleu!  _ What happened ?” He rushed forward and threw himself down next to Alex, grabbing his wrist in concern.

“It’s nothing,” Alex attempted to reassure him, but Mrs. Washington spoke over him.

“Just an accident with a bit of glass, nothing to worry about. Will you keep pressure on this, Gilbert, while I go get the first aid kit?”

Lafayette’s hands immediately replaced his mother’s and she left the room in a hurry.

“How did this happen,  _ mon ami _ ?”

Alex shrugged. “I was cleaning up dinner and I dropped a dish.” He spoke softly, afraid that Lafayette would be angry.

“Oh,  _ mon ami _ , you did not have to clean up after us. We would have taken care of it ourselves later tonight.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly against Alex’s wrist. The tightness in his chest eased a bit.

Alex shrugged again. “I did the dishes at my last house too. It’s no big deal.”

“You cut your fingers open,  _ mon cher _ ,” Lafayette said, worry evident in his tone, “that is a big deal.”

Alex didn’t see why. He’d had worse and he said as much.

Lafayette opened his mouth to respond but Mrs. Washington returned before any sound could come out.

“Here we go,” she said, setting a large red case marked with a white “+” on the coffee table. She opened it quickly and removed an individually packaged alcohol wipe. She tore the package open and unfolded the wipe. “Let’s see that hand, then.”

Lafayette obligingly released his grip on Alex’s injury and peeled back the now ruined towel. The cut ran right along the inside of his knuckles. It wasn’t deep and bleeding had already stopped but it looked rather messy. Mrs. Washington gently wiped the wound clean. Alex twitched as the alcohol stung and didn’t respond when Mrs. Washington apologized again. After the wound was clean, she smeared some antibiotic cream on it (something Alex recognized from his own numerous experiences doing first aid) and wrapped it neatly in a bandage.

“There!” She said happily, “nice to see I haven’t lost my touch!”

She began to pack up the kit again.

“ _ Maman _ was an ER nurse for many years before she married  _ Papa _ .” Lafayette explained.

“I still do some volunteer work with the Red Cross from time to time. Mostly blood drives and the like.” Mrs. Washington added.

Mrs. Washington snapped the first aid kit shut. “Why don’t you boys head upstairs to rest? I’ll put this away and go then go find George.” Panic flooded Alex’s veins.

“Please don’t tell him I broke the dish.” 

The words were out before Alex could even consider them. Lafayette and Mrs. Washington looked at him in confusion.

“Why?” Lafayette inquired.

Alex hesitated briefly before murmuring, “He’ll be mad.”

Mrs. Washington let out a soft laugh before replying, “I assure you, he won’t be. But I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.”

Alex nodded thankfully.

“Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight,  _ Maman _ .” Lafayette responded. He gently pulled Alex to his feet and led him through the kitchen, steering him away from the mess of glass and blood on the floor with the assurance that Mrs. Washington would take care of it. 

Guilt coiled in Alex’s gut. It was his mess, he should be the one to clean it up. 

But Lafayette remained unmoved by Alex’s attempts at persuasion as he led him up the stairs. They came to a stop outside of Alex’s bedroom and Lafayette asked, “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Alex bit his lip. “No, thank you. I think I’d like some time alone.”

Lafayette agreed easily. “Very well,  _ mon ami _ . I will see you in the morning.  _ Bonne nuit _ .”

“ _ Bonne nuit _ ,” Alex parrotted as he slipped into his room. He locked the door and, without turning on the light, managed to unzip his backpack and locate his sweatpants and sleepshirt by touch. Listening carefully for any approaching footsteps, he quickly changed clothes before collapsing onto the bed. 

Now that all of the excitement had died down, Alex had time to think about Mrs. Washington’s reaction. She hadn’t hit him for dropping the food. In fact, she hadn’t even yelled at him. Surely she had been angry, Alex had ruined a perfectly good dish, not to mention half a pot roast, but she had just fretted over his hurt fingers like a mother hen. 

_ Like a mother. _

Alex pushed that thought away. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted blood on her floor. Maybe she was waiting to punish him later. Maybe she was going to let Mr. Washington punish him. 

That was a chilling thought. 

But Mrs. Washington had said that he wouldn’t be mad. She even promised not to tell him. Alex found that hard to believe. 

And Lafayette, he had seemed almost disapproving when Alex had said that he’d been cleaning up after dinner. Was he not supposed to? Had he done it wrong? Why had the Washingtons left him at the table instead of sending him to his room if they didn’t want him to clean up? Alex had done twice as many dished at the group home and that had been by hand. Compared to that, loading a dishwasher had been a breeze.

And, what was more, they hadn’t made him clean up the mess he had made. Alex had cleaned up the aftermath of more than one beating.

And why had they cared so much when Alex had been hurt? Alex had been hurt many, many times since coming to America, and no one had given a shit before. Maybe it was because Alex was new here. Once they got used to his presence, they would start ignoring him. The thought was both comforting and painful. While it would be nice not to have to worry about drawing Mr. Washington’s attention, Alex had enjoyed getting to talk to Lafayette. He was nice and cheerful and seemed to actually like Alex. And Mrs. Washington reminded him painfully of his mother.

The Washingtons seemed too good to be true. Maybe they were just waiting, biding their time before they showed their true colors. This was going to be just like every other home he had been in, he was sure of it. 

The anxiety that had attacked him after dropping the dish suddenly left him. The bone-deep exhaustion that flooded him was a sharp contrast to the fear and adrenaline he had felt mere minutes ago. 

Alex curled up under his blankets and closed his eyes. Maybe if he was lucky, his nightmares would be quiet tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Alexandre" Alexander  
> "mon ami" my friend  
> "le diner" dinner  
> "Mere" mother  
> "Bien sur, Papa" of course, Dad  
> "Maman" Mom  
> "Oui" yes  
> "Merveilleux" marvelous  
> "Sacre bleu" Literally 'sacred blue', an exclamation of surprise or disbelief  
> "Mon cher" my dear  
> "Bonne nuit" good night
> 
> I decided to incorporate George Washington's real-life religious beliefs into my story. Don't worry, this will not turn into a "coming-to-Jesus" story.   
> Yes, I did the "traumatized character drops something breakable and then injures themselves trying to clean it up" cliche. What can I say? The classics are classic for a reason.  
> Just so you know, the dogs, Venus and Tippler, are named after two of the OG Washington's real-life dogs. In this fic, Venus is a female Briard and Tippler is an English foxhound, two breeds that Washington did own.
> 
> In the next chapter, we'll get the whole Revolutionary Set together for the first time and Alex will meet a certain freckle-faced dreamboat so stay tuned and please leave a review, that are my lifeblood.


End file.
